


Cops and Wolves

by sunstarunicorn



Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [53]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Wild Hunt, forced transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23296666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: Fenris Ulf’s pack is back in Toronto, determined to claim Jules and Lou as their newest members.  As the moon rises and the pack strikes, Team One calls in backup of a very different sort, pitting Fell Beasts against Dark Creatures, and Narnian magic against a curse as old as time.
Relationships: Sam Braddock/Jules Callaghan
Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [53]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/538363
Comments: 24
Kudos: 8





	1. The Rise of Fenris Ulf

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the fifty-third in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "A Grief Observed".
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.

Jules swallowed, backing up into Lou as the werewolves surrounded them, a vicious, anticipatory gleam in several canine eyes. Barefoot and clad in night clothes, neither cop had so much as a stick to hold off their attackers.

“Been nice knowing you, Jules.”

“Right back atcha, Lou.”

One of the werewolves growled, saliva dripped from its fangs as it drooled. Another padded forward, an eager whine escaping.

_Thump._

The earth trembled as a minotaur landed between the officers and their attackers, bellowing. A massive axe lifted, the minotaur’s tail lashing as he settled into position; one huge hoof scraped the ground and razor sharp horns gleamed a pearly hue in the moonlight as the man-bull lowered his head with a derisive snort.

Wolf howls shattered the air, yips, snarls, and yelps of challenge; the werewolves struggled to turn back an assault on two fronts as the minotaur took advantage of the distraction to attack, his axe finding its mark in a particularly foolish werewolf who tried to take the Fell Creature on by itself.

As the battle began to rage around them, Jules yanked Lou towards her, trying to get them both behind the minotaur. The howl chilled her blood; the largest of the werewolves sprang at her partner, exposed and unarmed.

“Lou!”

The tan-skinned constable was slammed to the ground, the werewolf snarling in triumph as its jaws opened to bite its helpless victim.

Jules screamed denial.

Only to watch the werewolf go flying as another animal attacked from the side, shrieking pure _fury_. The constable caught a flash of wings, an eagle’s head and beak, and ripping, rending talons as the new arrival landed between Lou and his attacker.

Wings snapped outwards as the gryphon voiced an eerie screech-snarl and faced off with the livid werewolf. The brunette’s breath caught as she took in the small, still moment before single combat.

The wings were crippled.

* * * * *

_33 hours earlier_

The motley group slinking through the back alleys of Magical Toronto hardly drew a second glance. A few wizards, noting the group, picked up their pace and kept their wands at hand – in this ragged part of town, spellfire in response to an askance look was not uncommon. But criminals possess a _keen_ sense of self-preservation – and crossing a werewolf pack was _decidedly_ against those instincts.

The werewolves themselves hardly cared that they were so readily identifiable…they took _pride_ in their condition, in their curse, and eagerly looked forward to the day they would _triumph_ over the wizards who oppressed them so. But while the werewolves held their _pack_ in high regard, many were starting to become… _disenchanted_ …with their self appointed leader.

Fenris Ulf, successor to the notorious Fenrir Grayback, surveyed his pack with a sense of bitterness; he knew his grasp on power was weak, tenuous. Oh, how he cursed the day he’d allowed a _wizard_ to dictate to _his_ pack. He’d been promised the freedom to _bite_ at will, hunting amongst the best Muggles and Muggleborns for new pack members. Had even, with Moffet’s blessing, picked out two prime candidates to bite as the Moon of War rose.

The Muggles had ruined _everything_ , snatching back _his_ packmates before the moon could finish rising. Worse, they had turned back the attack on the Embassy, turning the tide against Moffet’s Neo Death Eaters and _slaughtering_ all save Fenris’s young cub, now forever beyond his reach. It was thanks to _them_ that Fenris’s pack now stood on the brink of collapse, thanks to _them_ that he’d had to put down _five_ challengers in the moons since that debacle, thanks to _them_ that events had gone so very, very wrong.

A growl escaped as the remnants of the once proud pack assembled in the burned out, ramshackle factory. Now they were beaten and downcast, whimpering and whining for what _scraps_ they could find. An emissary had approached them a week earlier on behalf of the Neo Death Eaters’ new leader – at Ulf’s command, his pack had ripped the man to shreds.

“Never again,” he declared to the wizard’s corpse. “Never again will we be _tricked_ by _your_ kind. _Used_ by _your_ kind.”

The lusty cheer had been the last…until now.

A howl drew the pack’s attention. Slitted yellow eyes regarded the assembly. “Never again,” he announced, echoing his prior speech. “Never again will we bow to _wizards_.” A snort; he paced back and forth on the worn out, splintered platform he’d found in the scorched building. “The packs of this misbegotten city crawl on their bellies, begging for whatever _trash_ the wizards and _Muggles_ see fit to toss. They _betray_ us!”

Howls of agreement echoed.

“The wizards think to _break_ us,” Fenris snarled. “They think to _tame_ us, granting us treats in return for tricks. Tricks that _betray_ our kind. Tricks that allow _Muggles_ to take _our_ packmates.”

“They were the Muggles’ packmates,” a lone voice objected in the middle of the furious howls.

Fenris stiffened; the werewolf stood erect and almost frozen as he turned his head to regard the female. Roughly chopped black hair stood out around pale blue eyes and delicate features. The scars of her sire ran across her face and she was as ragged as the rest of them, but strength shone in her thin features.

The older, larger werewolf bounded down, growling, a growl echoed by their packmates. More wolf than man, Fenris’s teeth were pointed, his fingernails long and sharp, and his blond hair hung from his head – a greasy, limp, unwashed mane of thin, reedy strands. “What did you say?” the pack leader questioned, his tone dangerously soft.

The female whined, tilting her head to expose her neck, but defiance never left her eyes. “They were the Muggles’ packmates,” she repeated. “The Muggles came to get _their_ packmates back; they didn’t even _touch_ us.”

Fenris smiled, fangs flashing in that smile. “So you think we should leave _our_ packmates in the hands of…Muggles? Slink away into the night with our tails between our legs?”

Jeers met his proposal; the female paled, but held still.

Still smiling, Fenris turned his back. “By the next full moon, we will _have_ what’s ours!” he declared. Cheers rose, drowning out the pained yelp as his Beta put the female in her place. “But I am a generous wolf,” Fenris continued smoothly, turning back to the rebellious female. “ _You_ may bite our new female packmate.”

Color drained from the young werewolf’s face. But as her pack howled approval and jeered at her, she dared not rebel again. So instead she bowed her head. “Yes, sire,” she whispered.

Fenris’s smile widened. Turning away again, he added, “ _Deal_ with her.”

“No, please,” the female cried, only to scream as the pack descended.

* * * * *

Deija, Alpha Female of Toronto’s Scarborough pack, ducked her head and swallowed a whine as she entered the Toronto Auror Division. In the months since the new division’s establishment, three of her packmates had come to the Aurors for help – and gotten it. It was enough for the middle-aged werewolf to risk the journey herself.

Inside the door, she glanced around, trembling inside at how many people flowed through the building’s atrium. “Strategic Response Unit,” a dark-skinned woman at the nearby desk said; Deija jumped, then realized the woman was talking to someone else. Dark eyes narrowed and the woman’s hand moved; an alarm went off. “Team Three, hot call. Team Three, hot call.”

Deija hung back until the Muggle officers had been given the details of the ‘hot call’ and left, then crept forward, anxiety plain.

“Hi, welcome to the Strategic Response Unit, can I help you?”

“I am looking for the Auror Division.” Deija’s heart pounded…if the woman didn’t know…

But the woman smiled and stood up to point down the hallway to Deija’s left. “Go down there, hang a right, and you’ll be right there. Next time, just ask for the special division…everyone here knows what that means.”

“Thank you,” Deija murmured, inclining her head to the Muggle woman. Inside a thread of tension uncurled…perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad…

* * * * *

Commander Anne Locksley regarded the werewolf in her office, expression still. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, Madame,” the werewolf replied. “My Beta and four others were attacked last night by Fenris Ulf’s pack.” Her lips pursed. “We would have handled it within the packs, but for one thing my Beta overheard as she played dead.”

“Ulf’s pack intends to take two new pack members this full moon,” Locksley finished, repeating what the werewolf had already told her. “Do you know who?”

“I cannot say for certain, Madame, but I think it likely Ulf has not forgotten his _last_ visit to our territory.”

Ah. “Moffet,” Locksley hissed under her breath, earning a solemn nod from the werewolf. Drumming her fingers, the Commander debated her options, finally giving a firm nod. “You may leave this with me – you have my word of honor that we will not leave you defenseless before _Ulf_ and his kind.”

“His kind?” Both question and challenge.

Locksley smiled grimly. “ _You_ stand with us; _he_ stands with _Moffet’s_ ilk.”

Understanding shone and the werewolf rumbled in soft satisfaction. “I shall tell my Alpha,” she promised. “And we shall keep ourselves caged this full moon.”

“You don’t every full moon?”

“We have warded an old farmstead far from civilization – we usually spend our full moons there. But we will not this full moon; we will not chance encountering you and yours.” With that and a slight curtsy, the werewolf departed.

The witch gazed after her, then shook herself and reached for her phone. They didn’t have much time.

* * * * *

Though her Auror’s confidence had been shaken to its core during the serial killer debacle, Giles’ mind was still as keen as ever. No sooner had Locksley laid out the facts then he blew his breath out and ran a hand through his hair. “Callaghan and Young. That’s who they took last time.”

“They’ll try to take ‘em again,” Roy agreed, his expression furious and shuttered. “We’ve got to warn them.”

“Yes,” Locksley agreed softly, “but I would like to know more about _last_ time. This werewolf made it sound as if _more_ than just a Wild Hunt was thwarted.”

Both Aurors froze, confirming her suspicions.

“Explain.”

Slowly, the details came out, leaving Locksley reeling. A _war_ between magic and technology? A _missile_ killing most of the Canadian Auror Division in one strike? Massacres as the Muggles fought back against those they _saw_ as the enemy? It sounded utterly unbelievable. Pure fantasy. Even _more_ unbelievable was the tale of how it had been stopped. Time travel – breaking the most _fundamental_ _laws_ of time travel. Essentially _using_ both past and future selves to halt a _war_ and save millions of lives.

When her Aurors finished, Anne Locksley was shaking. And wondering, all over again, what in _Merlin’s_ name had she and Brian been _thinking_ , to keep Team One in their world. It had nearly been their deaths – it _had_ been their salvation. Oh, dear sweet _Merlin_ , she needed Firewhiskey…

“What if we use them as bait?” Giles suggested abruptly. “Stop them from getting kidnapped, but put them out there to draw Ulf in?”

“Parker would go nuts,” Roy argued.

“I don’t think so,” Giles countered, thoughtful. “It was one thing to let the pack go back during that whole…thing. But they’re coming back _here_ , threatening law enforcement, threatening to break the Statute. We stop them this month, they just come back next month or a couple months from now. Let’s finish this now; we pick the time and place, hit ‘em with everything we got and stop this cold.”

“End it now, before anyone on our side gets hurt.” Though uncertain, Roy voiced his partner’s unspoken conclusion. “You really think Parker will go for it?”

“Let’s ask him,” Giles suggested.

Both men looked to their superior. She wrestled with herself – most Aurors stayed far, far away from werewolves during the full moon and for good reason. But at length she inclined her head in permission. Her men were right – this had to end one way or another before it got any worse.


	2. Full Moon Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...just as Greg Parker says, we're humans, we're going to get things wrong - and now I have a bit of humble pie to eat because I accidentally posted the first chapter of "Contingency Plan" instead of the first chapter of "Cops and Wolves" over on Fanfiction.net.
> 
> As an apology to my readers over on Fanfiction.net, I posted the second chapter of this story. Although I did not make that mistake here, I'm going to give all of you the second chapter as well.

Jules finished changing into her night clothes, sniffling and sneezing. She’d ordered Sam to stay away until she was over her cold, but her boyfriend hadn’t listened. He’d just shown up with a medical mask over his mouth and nose, blue eyes dancing at her. She’d laughed at how silly he looked, then let him bustle her to bed, promising soup and a movie. Too miserable to argue, the brunette crawled under her covers and absently prayed Sam wouldn’t burn down her kitchen.

“Jules?”

“Decent,” she rasped before coughing into her elbow.

Sam worked her door open, careful to keep the hot soup in his hands from falling, then brought the glass bowl over to her nightstand. He set it down long enough to retrieve her breakfast-in-bed tray from the nearby closet, then assembled her dinner in record time. “There’s the soup,” he announced cheerfully. “Now the movie.”

“Sam, you don’t have to,” Jules croaked, stirring her soup and blowing on the first spoonful.

“Promised, didn’t I?” Blue eyes laughed at her from above the mask and her wonderfully stubborn boyfriend made his way over to her bedroom TV to start setting up their movie. “Which movie do you want?”

Well, if he was going to _insist_ … “ _101 Dalmatians_ ,” Jules declared. “Animated, then live action.”

He froze an instant, then chuckled. “Sure thing, Jules. I haven’t seen those in _ages_.”

Bemused, the cold-ridden brunette watched the blond depart briefly to retrieve the discs, then set the first movie up. As the opening notes played, Sam crawled in next to Jules and she adjusted herself to lean against him as she ate her soup.

* * * * *

By the time Pongo and Perdita were celebrating their new litter of puppies, Jules had finished eating and set the soup bowl back on her nightstand, leaving the remainder of her meal for later. Sam adjusted his position to let Jules lean more against his chest, then draped an arm around her as they watched Cruella de Vil demand to purchase the newborn pups.

Pongo’s furious barks and the thunder from the screen seemed…louder…than they should have been. Sam sat up, frowning as he turned the volume down. Then Jules’ bedroom door slammed open.

Their attackers were on them in seconds; Jules screamed as she was ripped away from her boyfriend. Sam launched himself after her with a yell; a ragged man shoved him into her nightstand, sending the soup bowl and a lamp her father had given her flying.

“No!” Jules screeched, kicking at the man who held her. Barefoot and sick, her kicks did no good; her captor sneered. “Sam!”

She couldn’t get free, but he wasn’t giving up; the sniper rolled, coming up with her bedside backup piece. He fired, drawing a yowl from one of their attackers. Then a massive man who looked more like a wolf than a man kicked Sam in the chest and stepped on his gun hand, forcing him to drop the weapon.

A rag covered Jules’ mouth; she struggled to keep from inhaling, but a coughing fit betrayed her. As her world went dark, she saw the wolf man hurl Sam through her window.

“Sam…”

In the background, thunder boomed from the TV as Cruella de Vil swore revenge and slammed the door behind her.

* * * * *

Sam hit the window, glass shattering around him as he fell. Bones snapped as he hit the ground; his scream ripped from his throat without a lick of permission. “Jules,” he managed to whisper as lights clicked on and doors slammed.

“Call 911!” a woman yelled; then someone was next to him. “Sir! Hold still, the ambulance is on its way.”

“Jules,” he rasped. “They took Jules, call Sarge.” He tried to lift his hand, but the woman pushed it down. “Phone,” he gasped out. “Call. Sarge. Jules…”

His world dimmed as fire shot through his veins. Distantly, he heard the woman telling the dispatcher that her neighbor had been kidnapped, but the pain and his heartbeat drowned out anything else.

_Jules…_

* * * * *

Lou woke when his door slammed open and they dragged him out of bed; he clawed and fought, but the sweet-smelling rag over his nose and mouth ensured his struggles were weak, ineffectual, and swiftly quashed.

* * * * *

By the time Ed arrived at Jules’ house, Sam’s limp, unconscious body had been taken to the hospital and detectives were crawling all over the house, searching for clues.

“Ed!”

The team leader turned to see Wordy jogging up. “Where’s the Boss?”

“Sarge called me; right after he called you, another detective called from Lou’s apartment complex.”

“Both Lou _and_ Jules?” the bald sniper demanded in dismay.

“Sounds like it,” Wordy confirmed grimly. “How’s Sam?”

“I called Onasi; he said he’d take care of getting Sam transferred to St. Mungo’s,” Ed reported. “He’s probably gonna be down a couple days though.” Shaking his head, the team leader asked, “What the heck’s going on, Word?”

“Heck if _I_ know, Ed. Maybe one of Moffet’s guys again?”

Ed gazed up at Jules’ broken windows and winced, imagining the blond sniper’s fall. Wordy might be right, but somehow…he had a feeling it was a whole lot worse than ‘one of Moffet’s guys’.

* * * * *

“Fenris Ulf is back in Toronto.”

Commander Holleran didn’t miss how his Sergeant stiffened at this announcement. “Why are we just now hearing about this?” he asked, a dangerous cant to his words.

Auror Onasi met his glare head on. “We only found out late yesterday, sir, when one of Toronto’s Alphas reported an attack on her packmates.”

“Were they hurt?” Parker interjected, alarmed.

The brunet shook his head. “No, they got away and Scarborough’s Alpha Female came right in to report it.” Sighing, Giles rubbed his stubbled chin. “She said Ulf’s pack was planning on grabbing two new pack members. We figured they’d be Callaghan and Young; we were planning on telling you today.” The Auror hung his head. “I didn’t think they’d move so fast, Parker, or I would’ve pulled your people out yesterday, I swear.”

The Sergeant’s gaze switched from the abashed Auror to his superior, refusing to waste time on regrets or berating the beaten down Onasi. “Sir, the next full moon is _tonight_. Sam won’t be out of the hospital for a week; glass embedded right above his spinal cord and he’s lucky it wasn’t _severed_. He’s got broken ribs and the landing broke his collarbone in three places.”

“I’ll call Team Three in,” Holleran agreed. Dark eyes pinned the Auror. “What about your people, Auror Onasi?”

“Simmons is asking for volunteers,” Onasi reported, “We don’t usually go after werewolves during the full moon; it’s hazard duty and Simmons isn’t asking any of the Aurors with families, so we won’t get his full squad, but we’ll get _some_ Auror backup.”

“Sergeant? Will that be enough?”

Eyes dark with fear lifted. “Let’s get everybody in here, sir. We’ll need to lay it out.”

* * * * *

The briefing room was crowded with the four remaining members of Team One, the whole of a furious Team Three, seven volunteers from the Auror Division, Roy, Giles, and Commander Holleran. Sergeant Greg Parker surveyed the group, mentally wincing. Four of the Auror volunteers were the rookie Junior Aurors his team had first met at the Auror Academy. The others were jaded veterans unlikely to take a ‘Muggle’s’ orders. Still. No time to debate.

“Spike,” he ordered softly as he stepped to the front. On the glass screen behind him, the bomb tech brought up an overhead shot of the location his Sergeant had been able to pinpoint as their target. One hand swept out, indicating the open field. “This is our destination,” Parker announced grimly. “We’re not sure how many werewolves are in Fenris Ulf’s pack, so everyone goes fully loaded, with at least four magazines of silver bullets, two for your sidearm, two for your submachine gun. If you need to swap, get behind someone who’s still armed, and _don’t_ worry about dropping the old magazine. We’ll sort everything out once the shooting stops.”

“Shoot to kill,” Ed added grimly. “You get bit and you’re dead. One techie in a _hundred_ can survive a werewolf bite; I’d rather not test those odds.”

“No negotiation,” Parker reinforced. “Werewolves would rip their own families apart if they could once they’ve transformed. The Toronto packs have all gotten in touch, reassuring the Auror Division that they’ll be locked up tight tonight. Unis have been told to stay away from those areas and to ignore canine noise complaints.” He paced back and forth, tension clear.

“Stay together, watch each other’s backs; Jules and Lou are the priority, but keep _yourselves_ safe, too. We know from Auror Division records that virtually every known member of Ulf’s pack is wanted on multiple counts of murder and bites during the full moon. The oldest werewolves still have active warrants from the Second War; _all_ of these werewolves _have_ to be considered threat level red; armed, dangerous, and actively threatening law enforcement personal.”

“That means you all have Scorpio,” Team Three’s Sergeant growled, earning a nod from his Team One counterpart.

Parker’s gaze shifted to the Aurors. “Stick as close as you can and do what you can to cut down on the collateral damage; aside from no Unforgivables, anything goes tonight. Our job is to go in and get our people out; anything else is gravy.” He stopped, turning to face his coworkers head on. “Any questions?”

“Sarge.” Wordy’s voice was heavy with reluctance. “What if they’re waiting for us? They have to know we’re coming.”

“We could be walking into a trap,” Donna agreed.

Greg swallowed hard. The smart thing, he knew, was to back off…let the pack have the two they’d taken and come down _hard_ once the full moon was past. But to do that was to sacrifice two of _his own_ – and he couldn’t do that. Even if it was just him going in, he still would. He couldn’t let his people die, not without fighting as _hard_ as he could to get them back. No matter what the cost.


	3. Fell Backup

The Portkeys had been arranged, their coordinates set, and the rescuers would move in less than twenty minutes. Sergeant Greg Parker sat at the briefing table, his pen flying as he fought to both keep his temper in check and calculate the best words to use. Abruptly, he stood up, yanking the page out of the binder and not particularly caring that the page itself ripped in the motion.

“Sciuto,” he barked; the Junior Auror materialized next to him. “Take this to Gringotts,” he ordered, yanking his Auror badge off his belt as well; he passed both paper and badge to the young woman. “Ask for Account Manager Silnok, under my authority as the Calvin Family Regent. Once you’ve done that, get back here and start brewing as many potions as you think will help.”

“But sir,” Junior Auror Sciuto protested. “You need everyone you can get out there.”

The Sergeant shook his head. “Sciuto, by the time you get done at Gringotts, we’ll be gone. You can help us _best_ by doing what _you’re_ good at; brewing potions. Go.”

Though she cast him a betrayed look, she went, sniffling at what she saw as being pushed to the side. A part of Greg hurt right along with her, but he had _no time_. Ignoring the looks he was getting from every last cop and Auror in the room, he crossed to Giles and hauled the younger man outside the briefing room.

“Sending me away, too?” Giles bit out. “What, am I just a bit too cracked for you? Too much of a hazard, huh?”

“Shut up and listen,” Parker growled, one hand slamming the wall and eyes narrowing as his wild side came to the fore. “We need an edge, something they’re not ready for. Something they don’t know how to counter.” He jerked a thumb at his chest. “Change me into my gryphon form, Giles.”

Onasi froze, except for his jaw, which fell open. “What are you, _crazy_ , Parker?” he hissed after a minute. “You’ll be trapped, stuck like that until I change you _back!_ And you remember how bad it hurt the first time? You’re not a regular Animagus; it’s _gonna_ hurt like that _this_ time, too!”

“I don’t care.” Hazel hardened into topaz. “Animagi can’t be turned – I can _buy_ us a few extra chances. Keep the werewolves from biting any of you. Maybe I can cut right through their lines and get to Jules and Lou before they get bitten. Cover them until the rest of you catch up.”

“Parker, we’ll _get_ to them, we’ve got a good plan. They don’t have the first clue of how to handle guns,” the Auror argued.

“Guns might not be enough. We don’t know how many we’re up against, Giles.”

“You don’t have to do this.” Desperate, Onasi scrubbed his hands through his hair, frantically sorting through objections. “I don’t even know if you’ve _got_ enough magic to be unaffected by a werewolf bite.”

Topaz turned haunted. “Then maybe I’ve got enough to survive. That’s better odds then the rest of my people have.” The Sergeant lifted his chin, pale, but determined. “Giles, please, don’t make me beg. Let me protect my own.”

Silence hung for several long minutes. Then the Auror nodded reluctantly. “Not here, Parker. Easier to use a Portkey in your human form.”

“Copy,” Greg whispered. “But as _soon_ as we get there…”

“Yeah, I hear you. Animagus torture time.”

Parker ignored the sarcasm. Better that _he_ hurt like hell than risking his _team_ hurting like hell – right before they died from that werewolf curse.

* * * * *

Silnok pushed aside his parchmentwork as the young Junior Auror was ushered into his office. She was teary-eyed and carrying a torn piece of Muggle paper along with Parker’s Auror badge. “What has happened?” the goblin demanded.

“Ulf…his pack is here again, they took Callaghan and Young; Braddock’s in the hospital and the rest are going after Ulf’s pack. I should be there, I should be _helping_ , but he made me come.” The hysterical witch burst into tears, noisily sobbing about being kicked off the assault force and relegated to carrying messages.

Ignoring the babbling and the wails, Silnok seized the letter, scanning its contents. Then he paused and re-read the missive, a smile bubbling to the fore. Yes, yes, yes…very good, very wise. Extra measures would be needed, but it could be done.

“Enough,” he snapped; the witch froze mid-sob. “You have done well, just as Sergeant Parker expected. Follow whatever orders he gave to you for _after_ delivering this,” he lifted the page, “and know that _you_ have turned the tide. Now begone! I have much to do.”

She fled, bewildered and still crying.

The goblin snorted and tapped the stone on his desk to summon another messenger. When the messenger arrived, he thrust the letter at the other goblin. “You will need to use a Time-Turner,” he rumbled. “Ensure that they receive the message and arrive here in Toronto before moonrise.”

* * * * *

Granny Cantril’s eyes locked with Maxus as soon as she finished reading. “See that all those who can fight go with you, Maxus. And tell Brightpaw that his Lion-touched will need him; we cannot allow Tash to triumph this night.”

The minotaur rumbled as he bowed his head. “We shall assemble, Granny, but will we arrive in time? This missive was written in haste and moonrise is in less than a day.”

The hag smiled viciously. “Trust in the Lion that we _will_ arrive in time and it will be so, Maxus. Now hurry.”

* * * * *

Brightpaw raced ahead of his packmates at Maxus’s bellow. The Traitor’s Army had but one leader, Granny Cantril, but Maxus was her second and the acknowledged military commander. If _Maxus_ was summoning them, a fight was coming. A big one.

Around the minotaur general, the Army assembled. Black dwarves, dryads, harpies, wolves, ogres, and several minotaurs. Maxus’s voice rose. “The Lion-touched call,” he roared, lifting his enormous battle axe in one hand. “Werewolves have stolen _two_ of their own and they cry for our aid! Who will fight beside me?”

“I will,” Brightpaw yipped. His littermates whined, but moved forward with him nonetheless.

“As will I,” his mother agreed, lifting her voice in a howl. The rest of their pack joined her chorus, along with the roars of the other Fell Creatures.

“Then it shall be the red dawn,” one of their harpy Healers murmured resignedly.

“So be it,” a black dwarf next to her sneered. “Been far too long since we’ve fought for what’s ours.”

“Not ours,” one of the larger ogres grunted. “What’s _Narnia’s_.”

“We shall fight in Aslan’s name.” All heads turned to Granny Cantril. The hag pounded her staff against the ground, standing straight beneath her dark robes and hood. A measured beat, then she lifted the ancient wood high. “For Aslan and for _Narnia!_ ”

The Traitor’s Army responded as one, lifting their weapons and howls. “For Aslan and for _Narnia!_ ”

* * * * *

Portkeys landed them right next to the humans they would fight beside. Maxus grunted surprise when he spied a gryphon with crippled wings panting and pushing himself up as the Fell Creatures arrived. The minotaur lowed in quiet respect as he understood, then turned to the bald sniper who now held command in his Animagus Sergeant’s place.

“We are the Traitor’s Army,” he rumbled. “And we have come to aid you in reclaiming Your Own, Lion-touched.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a confession to make. In the midst of my own little world, I forgot that a whole lot of people are facing _much_ worse problems that little old me sitting safe and snug in her apartment, whimpering and wailing because she's not off bench yet. After all, I still have a job; I'm not wondering how I'm going to pay my rent or put food on the table.
> 
> So to all of you who _are_ worried about your jobs in one form or another, I'm sorry. To all of you who might be on the road, working long hours to keep the backbone of our economies around the world going, I'm sorry. I got all selfish when I should've been thankful for my circumstances and lifting all of _you_ up in prayer.
> 
> As the world seems to be going crazy around us, I pray that each and every one of you, my readers, be granted the strength and wisdom you need each day. May the LORD bless you and keep you. May the LORD cause His face to shine upon you and be gracious to you. May He bless you with His love and grant you His peace. Shalom.
> 
> Keep the Peace, ya'll!


	4. Wild Hunt, Redux

Werewolf howls cut off any further planning or explanations. Greg, still recovering from his forced transformation, let out a soft whimper-whine, hazel eyes lifting pleadingly to his team leader and Maxus.

“Let’s move,” Ed ordered. “You know your people best,” he added in the minotaur’s direction.

The minotaur rumbled assent and hefted his axe, lowing to his soldiers. The wolves spread out, followed by the other Fell Creatures, rapidly mixing with the humans. Though nervous, both wizards and techies adjusted to allow the Fell Creatures into their ranks.

The Boss growl-hissed, his head snapping around. An instant later, he tore off, oblivious to Ed’s objecting yell. Maxus charged after him, followed by the Traitor’s Army wolf pack. Frustration etched itself on the team leader’s face.

“Move in!” he yelled. “Take ‘em down, but try not to shoot our side!”

* * * * *

Jules swallowed and tried not to cough, backing up into Lou as the werewolves surrounded them, a vicious, anticipatory gleam in several canine eyes. Barefoot and clad in night clothes, neither cop had so much as a stick to hold off their attackers.

“Been nice knowing you, Jules.”

“Right back atcha, Lou.”

One of the werewolves growled, saliva dripped from its fangs as it drooled. Another padded forward, an eager whine escaping.

_Thump._

The earth trembled as a minotaur landed between the officers and their attackers, bellowing outrage. A massive axe lifted, the minotaur’s tail lashing as he settled into position; one huge hoof scraped the ground and razor sharp horns gleamed a pearly hue in the moonlight as the man-bull lowered his head with a derisive snort.

Wolf howls shattered the air, yips, snarls, and yelps of challenge; the werewolves whirled right into a two-pronged assault as the minotaur took advantage of the distraction to attack, his axe finding its mark in a particularly foolish werewolf who tried to take the Fell Creature on by itself. Two more werewolves leapt at the man-bull, only to be blocked by the haft of his axe; he threw them back, snorting disdain.

As the battle began to rage around them, Jules yanked Lou towards her, trying to get them both behind the minotaur. The howl chilled her blood; the largest of the werewolves sprang at her partner, exposed and unarmed.

“Lou!”

The tan-skinned constable was slammed to the ground, the werewolf snarling in triumph as its jaws opened to bite its helpless victim.

Jules screamed denial.

Only to watch the werewolf go flying as another animal attacked from the side, shrieking pure _fury_. The constable caught a flash of wings, an eagle’s head and beak, and ripping, rending talons as the new arrival landed between Lou and his attacker.

Wings snapped outwards as the gryphon voiced an eerie screech-snarl and faced off with the livid werewolf. The brunette’s breath caught as she took in the small, still moment before single combat.

The wings were crippled.

* * * * *

Battle joined, raging across the field as Fell Creatures and humans faced off against the werewolves. Harpies descended from the night sky, shrieking insults as they fell on the enemy, snatching more than one werewolf away before it could bite a human. The black dwarves mixed bows and axes; the archers stuck close to the gun-wielding cops, loudly counting their kills as their close-ranged brethren acted as a final line of defense for the techies.

Dryads summoned up long dead tree roots to trip the weres up, cackling as they captured several of their foes for later imprisonment. Donna, realizing the dryads’ actions meant they could go _less lethal_ , yelled for her team to herd the werewolves towards the Tree Fae and the ogres guarding the dryads’ backs.

Even so, gunshots and spells mixed with arrow shots as a full scale melee writhed, both sides well aware that _this_ battle was most assuredly for keeps. Maxus grunted and allowed the werewolves to push him back towards the defenseless female constable. At the last second, he adjusted his axe to wield it one-handedly, scooped up Callaghan, and sprang, letting his strength carry them both to safety. She screamed her teammate’s name, but the minotaur knew to leave her in the center of battle was to sentence her to certain death. That, he would not do.

But he could, and did, lift his voice in a bellow, calling for Brightpaw to rescue the other endangered human.

* * * * *

“Jules.”

“Ed.” She surged into his hold, then buried her face in his uniform to cough. The team leader made a face, but they’d all known Jules was sick. Sam had managed to confirm that much at the hospital before the Healers whisked him away. “Lou, we gotta get to Lou.”

“That won’t be easy,” Wordy opined. “Sarge and that minotaur got through, but the weres have caught on. They’ve closed ranks and started fighting back.”

“Then, then that _was_ Sarge?” Jules cried. “Ed, what were you _thinking_? He’ll have to go lethal, he’s _stuck_ ; oh, gawd, that must’ve hurt _so_ much…”

“It was his call,” Lane countered firmly. “We didn’t even know until Giles had already hit him with the spell.” And he’d been utterly _livid_ until Greg got between him and the cringing Auror, hazel eyes firm despite the horrific pain he was in as his body was forcibly restructured by the Animagus spell.

Team Three’s Sergeant battered his way through the melee. “See if you can get ‘em over to the dryads,” he barked. “They’ve got six weres tied up with tree roots already.”

“Copy,” Ed and Wordy chorused.

“Come on, Callaghan, let’s get you to the Healers,” the gruff officer added. “Donna’s got things under control, Lane; coordinate with her.”

And without listening to any of Jules’ protests, the Sergeant guided her to safety away from the fighting. Away from her team.

* * * * *

Lou gasped as he pushed himself up on the ground, less than a meter away from an utterly titanic standoff between his Sergeant and the largest, most vicious werewolf. The gryphon’s claws were sharper, his body larger and stronger, but he wasn’t as used to _fighting_ as the werewolf was. And the wings that _should’ve_ given him even more of an edge were crippled, giving the werewolf another potential target in addition to handicapping the Boss.

The werewolf howled and lunged, going for the gryphon’s wings. Wings that whisked out of range as the predator folded them and reared up, talons extended. A slash sent the werewolf tumbling sideways, yowling as blood welled up on gray, tangled fur. The were pushed himself back to his feet, yellow eyes wary as he crouched. Sarge hissed, sidestepping to be between his opponent and his constable.

Then the werewolf lunged again, going low to slam into Sarge’s chest, trying to knock him back and off balance. The Boss let himself be pushed, landing his talons on the were’s back and digging in; the werewolf howled and rammed his head up into the gryphon’s beak. The gryphon screech-yelped, lurching as he fell heavily, tail lashing into range; the were bit, earning an offended hiss-growl as the other yanked his tail away, short two tail feathers.

Sarge pushed off, head down as he slammed into his opponent again, knocking the werewolf away from Lou. The werewolf twisted, snarling as he went for the gryphon’s wings again; though Sarge managed to dodge most of the bite, several more feathers tumbled free. His wings flapped as he jumped, trying to get above his opponent enough to pin him. The werewolf plunged past, then wailed as gryphon talons and beak found their mark, shoving him into the ground.

* * * * *

Donna panted, thankful for her usual ponytail as yet another werewolf snarled at her from its cage of tree roots. “How many more?” she asked the wolf helping her.

“Another nine still roam,” the canine reported sorrowfully. “My pups will harry another your way, Lion’s Ally.”

“Lion’s Ally?” Donna asked even as she kept an eye out for any more surprise attacks.

The wolf’s muzzle turned up in a smile. “You are not one of the Lion-touched,” she replied. “But they highly regard you, Lion’s Ally.”

A snarl brought both around; Donna’s gun snapped on target even as the wolf beside her lunged. “Down,” Sabine yelled to her team; she fired, praying she wouldn’t hit the wolf.

Her prayers were not answered.

* * * * *

Neal gasped as he closed with Merric and Seaver; the three Junior Aurors had gotten cut off from the rest of the assault force and now stood back to back against four of the larger werewolves.

“We had a good run, didn’t we, Queenscove?” Seaver mumbled, struggling to remain upright as his arm bled profusely; he’d gotten winged by one of the werewolves’ claws. “Let’s do this again sometime, yah?”

Howls cut off Neal’s reply; the Junior Auror’s jaw dropped as six half-grown wolves raced between the werewolves and their wizard prey. An ogre, smaller than the rest, bellowed offense as he swung his club down at the largest werewolf; the werewolves yowled, springing apart.

“Merric!” Seaver screamed; Neal whipped around to see a slim werewolf leaping at his friend, jaws wide.

The wand slashed without thought. “ _Bombarda!_ ”

* * * * *

Blood dripped from a dozen places where the werewolf had nailed him; the were, in its turn, was limping after he’d managed to snap one of its leg bones in a toss. The gryphon snarl-hissed as he planted himself between the creature and his bronze. He would not allow the were to harm _his own_ ; he would not!

The crazed werewolf sprang, hitting him full in the chest, bowling them both over. He saw it, his opportunity to _end_ this. Claws slashed as he rolled, forcing the werewolf underneath him; he cut through the wolf’s fur and muscle, shrieking defiance. Jaws found his foreleg even as his talons cut a major blood vessel, sending his opponent’s life blood spraying everywhere.

He held his position until the werewolf’s struggles ceased and the creature lay limp beneath his talons. The gryphon struggled to his feet and turned wearily towards his bronze. He hobbled forward, whimper-cawing at the pain in his leg from the bite and the fiery stinging from the nips and bruises all over his wings and body.

His bronze was unharmed, but fear burned in his scent. Fear that grew stronger as he came closer. The gryphon slumped down, whimper-caws growing louder. He’d only been trying to protect _his own_ …why was his bronze afraid of him?

Then he felt it, growing more and more intense. Pain. His human side rose back to the surface and with it, understanding. He’d been bitten. By a transformed werewolf. On the full moon.

Agony engulfed him.


	5. Of Curses and Narnians

Lou couldn’t help it; when his blood-spattered gryphon Sergeant turned towards him and started limping forwards, fear raced through him and he scooted back. The Boss collapsed down, making sorrowful, whimpering noises, confusion in fixed hazel eyes as he gazed up at his constable. As if the gryphon couldn’t understand why Lou was scared. The tan-skinned officer shivered, staring between his blood-soaked Animagus boss and the dead werewolf.

Then the gryphon whined, a pain filled sound; talons curled and the animal followed suit, shuddering and giving little shrieks of anguish as he huddled in on himself. Lou saw the gryphon weakly lick at his leg and warily shimmied forward to get a better look. Dark eyes landed on Sarge’s leg and he sucked in a breath. His boss had been _bitten_.

* * * * *

Donna felt the tears slip down her face as she knelt next to the dead wolf who’d saved her life. Blood soaked the wolf’s fur, right where her rounds had flown through the poor animal to strike the werewolf beyond. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

“Mama?”

The constable gasped as she saw the half-grown wolves…the _wolf’s_ pups. Her team closed around her protectively, but she waved them away, meeting the young canines’ eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Sorrowful whimpers and whines filled the air as the pups crowded close to their fallen mother. Then they lifted their heads and howled their grief to the cold, distant moon.

Just past them, Team Three’s team leader sobbed regret and stroked blood-matted fur.

* * * * *

Neal stared at the werewolf as her battered form shifted back to human. Chopped black hair framed slim, delicate features and glazed pale blue eyes seemed to stare at him from above the wreck of her chest. Merric stumbled back and lurched sideways to lose his dinner in a handy clump of bush; Neal couldn’t move as he stared at the dead woman, her features, even in death, somehow both tragic and beautiful.

A cold nose nuzzled into his palm and he looked down at one of the young wolves who’d come to their rescue. “She was sad,” the wolf murmured. “Not sad anymore.”

“Not _anything_ anymore,” Neal pointed out, his voice harsh.

Surprisingly intelligent eyes gazed up at him. “She would have killed your friend,” the pup observed, lifting one paw to point at the fallen werewolf. “You protected him.” A solemn nod. “Like the Lion-touched protected all of us.”

“All of us?” Neal echoed, confused.

The wolf’s tail wagged and he bounced around the young Auror. “I met one of them once,” he yipped. “She was nice and let me sit beside her and gave us back the sun.” The pup slid to a halt, whining as the strains of a howl reached them. “Mama?” As the howls continued, he began to whimper and tremble. “ _Mama!_ ”

Neal had to turn away at the agonized grief in those words; his eyes fell on a bleeding Seaver and he hurried to his friend, doing his best to shut out the dead werewolf and the wolf pups howling for their fallen mother.

* * * * *

Maxus grunted as he paced through the fallen ranks of werewolves, each hoof placed with care on the former battlefield. Four of his harpies had fallen, all to werewolf jaws, three dwarves to the same, and six wolves to a mix of enemy and friendly fire. The loss of Yasha would hit them the hardest; her pups were only half-grown and would miss their mother terribly; but Maxus couldn’t bring himself to blame the Muggle who was grieving just as badly as the young ones over the friendly fire incident. They’d known perfectly well they were fighting werewolves; every wolf had known they were taking chances in the heat of battle, but the pack had been _determined_ to do their part.

No humans had been bitten, though several would sport scars for the rest of their lives and three Junior Aurors had ended up much closer to the action than their elders would wish. Brightpaw and his sibs had turned the tide there, cold comfort for Yasha’s youngest; last he’d seen, the female Lion-touched had been doing her best to console the grief-stricken pup.

But the crippled Lion’s Heir and the last Lion-touched were as yet unaccounted for, though Maxus was certain both were alive. The minotaur paused as a pained cry met his ears, along with a softer murmur that sounded…human. Maxus reached for his axe and picked up his pace, covering the ground with long, swift strides. Just past another clump of dead werewolves, he found the pair.

The Lion’s Heir lay curled up on his side, whimpering, cawing, and even managing a few soft moans. The Lion-touched was hovering over the crippled gryphon’s leg, anxious and fearful all at the same time; he glanced up at the sound of hoof beats. Surprise shone.

“You.”

Maxus rumbled amusement and replaced his axe in its back mounted sheath. “Greetings, Lion-touched. It is good to see you well.”

Uncertainty flickered, then the man shook his head, refocusing on the crippled Lion’s Heir. “That werewolf managed to bite him, right there at the end. Can you help him?”

Frowning, the minotaur knelt, gently pulling the gryphon towards him so he could see the bite. The animal whined, but allowed himself to be manipulated; the bite stood out on the forelimb, pulsing with the moon curse. Even more gently, Maxus prodded the injury, unsurprised when the Lion’s Heir snapped at him, half mindless with pain. “Let us get him to the Healers,” the man-bull decided. Glancing at the Lion-touched’s bare feet, he arched one pointed, furry brow. “Shall I return for you?”

The Lion-touched shook his head. “I’ll make it,” he promised.

* * * * *

Despite the reassurance, Maxus opted to take a longer route back, avoiding the bloodiest parts of the battlefield and staying well away from the dead werewolves. He did not know if the moon curse could be spread by the fallen and he had no intentions of finding out. Best to avoid the matter entirely. Though crippled and in excruciating pain, the Lion’s Heir kept largely quiet, only whimpering or cawing at a hard jostle; the Lion-touched stayed close, one hand resting on the Lion’s Heir’s hind leg, well away from the bite and the blood.

At length they drew close to the gathered assault force, far enough away from the dryads that the captive werewolves’ howls could not be heard, but close enough that if any escaped, they would be swiftly dealt with. His Healers moved among the injured and he overheard more than one human asking questions unrelated to the battle or its aftermath.

The Lion-touched were grouped around their lost female and Brightpaw; the pup’s wails had died away into mournful little sniffs, but his fresh grief draped him like a second coat. He jumped when the female Lion-touched sneezed, gazing up at her anxiously.

“Are you okay? They didn’t bite you, did they? Mama said that would be bad, if they bit any of you…” He wilted, one paw covering his snout as he whimpered, clearly trying not to cry again.

“I’ll be fine, Brightpaw; I came down with a cold the same day those werewolves grabbed us. They didn’t bite me, I promise.”

“Lou, buddy!” another Lion-touched yelled, spying Maxus and his companions. “You’re okay!”

“Hey, Spike,” the dark-skinned Lion-touched called back. “Sarge kept ‘em off me.”

“Yes,” Maxus rumbled, halting next to the small group. He lowered his burden to the ground as he added, “But he did not do so without injury.”

“Sarge!” the female cried, spotting the foreleg at once. “Oh, gawd, he got bitten!”

“Easy, Jules, easy,” one of her fellow Lion-touched interjected, crouching to see the injury better. “Animagi are immune; they can’t be turned.”

“True,” Maxus agreed, tail swishing. “But the moon curse will try, nonetheless. He cannot be transformed back until sunrise and his injuries must be tended to while in his form, lest he carry the scars for the rest of his days.”

“He’s hurting, too,” the dark-skinned Lion-touched added. “I think the bite is the worst.”

“Indeed.” The minotaur straightened, expression considering. “I shall call one of our Healers; she can tend the moon curse bite without fear.” Shifting his attention to young Brightpaw, Maxus knelt to face the youngster. “My sorrows for yours, little one. Yasha shall be greatly missed.” Horns tilted down until one tip touched the pup and gently caught the falling tears. “Grieve for her and do not forget her lessons. But do not forget to _live_ , young Brightpaw; that is what she wanted most for you and your siblings.”

“I won’t, Maxus, I promise.”

He snorted approval, then rose to his hooves. “Stay with them,” he ordered. “If the Lion’s Heir requires aid, howl for us.”

* * * * *

It hurt, oh, Aslan, it hurt. Parker choked back another screech of pain, allowing little more than a tiny whimper out. It felt like his blood was on fire, as if poison was working its way through every last _feather_. Giles had been right…he _didn’t_ have enough magic to go completely unaffected…just enough to keep from being turned. Even worse, there was nothing that could make the utter _agony_ subside…only time and sunrise would end his suffering.

His team was avoiding the bite wound, a wise precaution given what the curse would do them if it could. He curled his talons as well as his body, a few muted caws forcing their way out of his beak. He’d gone lethal – another nightmare to add to his collection from McKean – but he was simply too miserable to think about the dead werewolf beyond a vague desire to get the blood off.

The feel of water on his wings made him jerk, his head rising up a touch before he let it thump back down. “Easy, Sarge,” Jules murmured. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

“I think it’s more than just the bite,” Lou concurred. “That werewolf wasn’t pulling any punches.”

“Missing a few feathers from his tail,” Spike reported.

More water doused his opposite wing and what felt like a cloth was run over his feathers. “Got some clumps here,” Wordy remarked, his voice carefully level. “Blood and it looks like he got nipped or something. Lou?”

In the dim light from the moon and a few hastily conjured _Lumos_ orbs, Greg saw his constable shake his head. “It was like watching one of those fight to the death videos, guys; everything was moving too fast. First Sarge was on top, then that werewolf, then they’d be rolling around, biting and clawing at each other. Did see Sarge throw the werewolf; he managed to break its leg.” Lou swallowed hard. “That was before Sarge…took it down.”

“Okay.” Ed. “Call ‘em out; every nip, every scratch, every bruise, every missing feather. Boss doesn’t get changed back until they’re all dealt with.”

His team leader knelt, right by his head, and tilted his beak up, examining the tangle of feathers and fur that surrounded his neck. The rest of his team divvied up his wings, legs, and torso, washing away blood to examine him for injuries; he sighed in relief as dried blood sluiced away, the water itself soothing his cuts, scrapes, and nicks. Several spots on his wings ached; the pain of feathers torn away, but he knew they’d grow back – same with his tail feathers.

Ed rubbed gently behind furry, feathery ears; Parker rumbled a **squrr** and nudged the lean sniper when he stopped. A low chuckle emerged as the rubbing resumed, joined by a scratch or two. “Copy, Boss.” In spite of the pain raging through his body, the gryphon managed to relax, letting his team fuss over him.

* * * * *

Donna sniffled as she made her way towards Team One’s position; she _hated_ losing people, even if they weren’t _people_ , per se. Yasha’s grieving pups were trailing behind her, their whimpers and yelps so heartbreaking that Sabine wanted to chase them away…but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She didn’t understand why they wanted to stay by _her_ – she’d _shot_ their mother – but they did.

At least her team had survived unscathed, though Tom had had a close call; one of the minotaurs had yanked him away from a subject werewolf at the last second, introducing the were to its axe before it could try again. Funny – all her magical training said ‘Dark Creatures’ were the scum of the earth, but they’d just fought, bled, and _died_ to protect _humans_. They’d come _just_ because Sergeant Parker had sent them _one_ little note. How many would have died without them?

She halted, startled by the sight in front of her. Ed sat cross-legged with an animal’s head in his lap; its eyes were closed as he scratched behind its ears. The rest of Team One was washing blood off the creature, though they avoided one of its forelegs, and calling out any injuries they found. Ed paused his scratching long enough to lift a binder, writing a brief note before he set it back down.

“Anything else?” the team leader asked.

“I think that’s all of it, Ed,” Jules replied. “Not sure what we can do about the feathers. They might have to just grow back.” She leaned back and a wolf pup bumped into her, whining until the brunette obliged and started rubbing its back.

The bald sniper made a face, then huffed a sigh. “Copy, Jules. How’s the bite looking?”

“Like a bite,” Scarlatti quipped. The bomb tech leaned forward from his spot right in front of the animal’s extended wings, carefully balancing himself on one muscled shoulder. Aside from a rumble and a tail flick, the big predator never moved. “Should this thing be _glowing_?”

“What color, Spike?” Wordy and he looked worried.

“Umm…red, I think.”

The big constable relaxed. “That’s his magic.” He grinned wanly at the skeptical glares. “Guys, we’ve _seen_ Sarge’s magic before…that’s his color.”

Wait a second? That _thing_ was _Parker_?

* * * * *

The startled noise brought Ed’s head around; he stiffened at the sight of Donna Sabine. He liked Donna – had even given her away at her wedding – but the blonde had reacted…badly…to the Boss’s kills at McKean. While none of Team One had been happy about their Sergeant going lethal on four subjects in a row, they’d also _known_ it hadn’t been _Parker_ ; it had been his wild, untamed – and magic-less – gryphon form.

Donna had quietly advocated leaving Greg at McKean until he was changed back to human, even after Madame Locksley offered her estate as a place for the injured gryphon to stay. When Ed had refused, Sabine had gotten in his face, hissing, “That _thing_ is dangerous. It needs to stay _here_.”

Ed’s retort had been straightforward. “That ‘thing’ saved all our lives, Donna. Don’t _ever_ talk about Greg that way again.”

The two officers had studiously avoided each other for the next few months before the Boss quietly stepped in to mend fences between the magic-side team leaders. Although their meetings had been prickly at first, Donna’s determination to learn all she could about magic softened Lane’s resentment; their strained friendship had mended into a stronger bond, one Ed was proud to have.

Calculation narrowed blue eyes. “Word.”

His best friend slid in, understanding the implicit order. “Got ‘im, Ed.”

Greg lifted his head as his team leader traded places with the big constable, a low **squaaah** drawing Ed’s attention back.

“Boss?”

The gryphon butted the sniper’s shin, flicking his ears forward as he looked between Ed and Donna.

Lane huffed a laugh, then straightened and gestured for Sabine to follow him. Several meters away from the gryphon and out of easy earshot, Team One’s acting Sergeant turned to her, one brow rising. “You got something?”

Donna snuck a glance over at the rest of Team One, then shifted back to Ed. “My Sarge wants to know who handles the werewolves once the sun comes up. Onasi and your brother won’t give him a straight answer, so he…”

“Wanted you to ask Greg,” the bald sniper finished. Lane crossed his arms, frowning thoughtfully as he debated his answer. Sabine fidgeted, but kept quiet, suspecting her counterpart was also trying to channel his Sergeant. After a minute of silent debate and drumming his fingers on his arms, Ed straightened. “Team Three gets credit for the busts. We were down three coming into this – tech-side, we’d’ve gotten benched. And nobody says anything about Sarge getting bitten.”

“ _Bitten?_ ” Donna hissed.

Amusement flashed. “Animagi are immune if they’re in their forms. As long as the Boss’s injuries get healed before he shifts back, he won’t even have any scars.”

“So that’s why he’s lying there, getting fussed over like he’s on his death bed.” Sarcasm turned the blonde’s voice dry.

Ed’s shoulders twitched, right along with his jaw. “He’s immune, Donna. Anything else is none of your business. Any other questions?”

Guilt and shame radiated as the blonde constable ducked her head. “What do we do with the wolf pups?”

The other brow rose. “Unless I missed something, Donna, they stay with the Traitor’s Army, not us.”

“One of them asked the lead minotaur if they could stay here.”

“Here in Toronto, not with us, Donna.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Ed…Yasha’s pups are trailing me like ducklings.”

The team leader frowned, but his concerns were more for his boss than a bunch of wolf pups. “If you’re worried about it, ask the lead minotaur; I think his name’s Maxus.” Without waiting for her to respond, Lane started back towards his team.

“And what about Parker?”

Stilling, the sniper turned, expression hard and unyielding. “The Boss is our problem, Donna. We clear?”

“Clear.” Though the blonde gave him an uneasy look, she wisely didn’t voice her misgivings. “See you in the morning?”

“Yeah.”

* * * * *

The rest of the night ticked by. The promised harpy Healer appeared, twittering as she tended to the werewolf bite as well as all the nips and scratches their Sergeant had picked up during the fight. When Jules asked about the feathers, the Harpy mournfully explained they would have to grow back on their own, but reassured the constables that Parker could shift back without permanent harm, feathers or no feathers.

Brightpaw remained by Jules, sniffling and whuffling to himself every so often as the night wore on. His littermates eventually appeared, just as grief-stricken, but also just as interested in getting fussed over by the humans. The gryphon Animagus rumbled amusement at the very dog-like behavior from a group of wolf pups, but not too loudly – not with his team leader still scratching behind his ears.

* * * * *

It was, Greg mused to himself, curious how pain could recede into the background so long as at least one member of his team kept petting him. Accordingly, he was keeping his head as still as possible, even when he lashed his tail up to get a glimpse of his ravaged tail feathers. As he let the tail fall back down, he suppressed a fresh wince – the moon was setting and he could _feel_ it. The curse in his blood seemed to howl outrage, indignant that his Animagus form was protecting him from its effects and determined to extract revenge.

He panted, letting his beak hang open as he wrestled with the rising tide – a part of him suspected this was the moon curse’s last hurrah, but that scarce mattered. Pain. Agony. Dear Aslan, make it _stop_. A single whimper-screech made it past his iron will, soft, but voiced nonetheless. Reminding himself that none of his people had been bitten didn’t help – why had he _done_ this to himself? Why had he _volunteered_ to be transformed…to battle _werewolves_ with fang, beak, and claw? Hadn’t he been through _enough_?

“Come on, Greg, you’re almost there.”

Eddie. His pants grew harsher; poison and agony lashing him with all their collective might.

“You know, I was mad at you.” His team leader’s tone was low, conversational, trying to avoid waking their dozing teammates. “I thought, ‘What the heck is he doing, to go through all that pain again, risk losing control _again_?’ ”

Another whine made it out.

“Stop it, Greg, you were _right_. That minotaur, Maxus, he made it through, but nobody else did. Nobody except _you_. If you hadn’t forced Giles into doing what he did, we’d be sitting here around Lou – and he’d be lucky if he _died_.”

No…better to live, even as a werewolf. A growl rumbled in his chest.

“Greg, if Lou got bit, his life would be over either way. Can’t be a cop if he’s down three days a month. And that’s being generous from what I hear. Can’t be a cop if we’re on a call the night of the full moon, or we get a call that goes into overtime.” Ed stopped, blue eyes measuring, the yellow sheen around him steady. “But we don’t have to sit here, wondering if Lou will live or not. Because you made the _right_ call at the _right_ time. I know it hurts, probably hurts like hell, but you’re gonna be okay. We got you, Boss, and we won’t let you fall.”

Up in the night sky, the moon finished setting. Dawn was coming and his team held him fast. For now, regrets burned just as much as the lava in his veins. But in the light of day, Greg knew, he would look back, regret the pain, but not the choice.

_Never_ the choice.

_~ Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the curtain falls once more. I hope everyone enjoyed the latest installment in our series and, as always, I appreciate each and every comment.
> 
> Now, I know some of you have been looking forward to a possible episode twister of "Day Game" and that's exactly what's coming as we start "A Wing and A Prayer" next Tuesday, April 7th, 2020.
> 
> Lastly, on a RL note: I'm in! I have a laptop and badge from Finance, plus a scheduled call on Monday to start learning my new role. Still need to completely set up the new work laptop, but I am hopeful that it will go relatively smoothly. A large part of me still wishes I hadn't had the Telephone detour, but I guess that's what God wanted. At least I'm finally moving forward again.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's been praying for me and please continue to pray that God will continue to give me the resources I need to fulfill my new role. On the flip side, please allow me to take this opportunity to lift up all of you, my readers. May the Lord be with you, no matter what your circumstance and whatever problems you might be facing. May He grant all of you His peace, wisdom, and guidance as we all continue forward during these unsettling times.
> 
> See You on the Battlefield!


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